6-4-6
by some pierrot
Summary: Oikawa used to be good at lying. Ushijima/Oikawa.


**3rd year college au.**

* * *

><p>It's kind of weird, Oikawa reflects, tracing the hard outline of Ushijima's bare shoulder with the tip of his finger. He doesn't miss the goose bumps that rose on the taller boy's back, following his spine all the way down to disappear below the waistband of his shorts. Oikawa has to fight the urge to see if they went further.<p>

"What are you doing?"

"You had a bit of lint," he responds, and the lie comes to his lips so easily he almost believes it for a second. After all, lying is what he did best.

No, it was what he _used_ to do best.

Take last Friday for example. It had been the first night of the college tournament and Ushijima was on fire the way he always was. Merciless spikes left and right, it was a complete bloodbath. But Oikawa really might have been on fire. He had never been so happy to be a setter; he was _meant_ to be standing right there, positioned just so, so he could see the way Ushijima's shirt would rise when he leaped. He was burning up just watching Ushijima move. There was the perfect view of hard abs, of a pretty impressive ass, and they were close enough for Oikawa to see a few droplets of sweat on Ushijima's nose.

By the time the game was over he was on a wreck, thirsty for something not even water could quench. He had just barely managed to keep it cool; he held himself together long enough to find the privacy of an empty broom closet as the team rested before their second game. He had come in forty seconds—jesus save his soul, forty_ seconds_—and even though his sanity had eventually returned and he returned to the team his usual self, he couldn't even look Ushijima in the eye.

See, a liar would've been able to do better than that. Oikawa Tooru should have been able to do better than that, but that was before he had discovered the way Ushijima Wakatoshi lit a fire in his crotch.

That was last Friday.

Now, a week later, Oikawa still couldn't keep it together. He didn't know what was worse: his inconveniently-timed, embarrassingly-deep, ridiculously-inappropriate need to taste Ushijima's lips, or the fact that he was having so much trouble hiding it. He could just barely keep his persona on, but his thoughts lingered on certain things. Like the way Ushijima's muscles moved beneath his skin as he warmed up, the way his shorts would hike up his thighs when he ran, the way the bulge in his pants would—

Well.

"Goodnight sempai!"

He's stirred from his thoughts by the call from one of the younger players, and he gives an uncharacteristically silent wave that goes unnoticed. He doesn't blame them for digging out as quickly as they could. Why wouldn't they want to leave? The practice had gone hideously, Oikawa unable to connect even the most straightforward of tosses. His rhythm was off, his attention claimed by everything and nothing, simultaneously.

The two men change in silence, Oikawa attempting an easygoing hum that gets lost in the dryness of his throat. He's thirsty again and he's not sure what for. Ushijima is a dark cloud of disappointment beside him, though admittedly, it hardly makes any difference to his usual stoniness.

If he notices Oikawa's abnormal silence, he doesn't comment. He pulls on a sweater and Oikawa looks away sharply so that the last image in his eyes is a smooth expanse of tanned skin, stifling his disappointment. At the very least, the hoodie Ushijima pulls on is sleeveless and his shoulders are still visible.

Ushijima finishes changing before him, which isn't unusual. Oikawa always takes so long to dress, taking neurotic care in his appearance. Tonight though, tonight he'd rather have a few moments alone. He buttons up his shirt as Ushijima ties his shoes and he's only just rolling the sleeves up with care as Ushijima stands up finished.

"Oikawa."

He pretends to have just noticed. "Oh, done already? _Otsukare_~" He gives a little wave, ducking back behind his locker as he becomes absorbed in combing his hair into place.

Strangely, there is no sound of the door closing and after a moment, Oikawa dares himself to look. Ushijima is standing there, one hand still holding his bag over his shoulder.

"Something wrong, Ushiwaka-chan?" _Nothing wrong with _you_, _Oikawa thinks to himself, resting a hand on the lockers, the other on his hip. "If this is about practice, I'm sorry. There's just a girl that I was thinking about—"

"Is that so?"

"She's really cute, you know." He manages to sound appropriately defensive and equally obnoxious. "I have a date tonight with her and was just so excited." Ushijima's staring and Oikawa feels his stomach flip. He nearly grimaces at himself, but grins instead. "Jealousy doesn't suit you, Ushiwaka-chan."

"Why not?"

Oikawa nearly bangs his head on the lockers when he slips. He wants to ask what that was supposed to mean, but if he asks then he loses for sure. Asking simplistic Ushijima what he meant would be the final straw. So he denies himself the right, rolling his eyes as he turns back to his dressing. "Jealousy is for people who don't only have volleyballs for brains, Ushiwaka-chan. Though I suggest you try it some time. Word on the street is you're quite a catch. The muscles I suspect. It's not as obvious you're a volleyball nut with those things—"

Suddenly one of those things is pressed against the locker in front of his eyes.

He glances out of the corner of his eye, then goes back to rubbing gel into his hair, peering into the tiny mirror on the locker door to make sure he looked good. "What in the world are you doing?" he manages to sound apathetic. "Kabedon only works on vulnerable girls you know."

"That's not what this is."

"Then how can I help you? Oh," he pauses, looking at the reflection of Ushijima in his mirror. "You want me to lock the room? I'll do it for cheap."

"After _that_ practice, you're going to charge me for anything?"

"Jokes don't suit you, Ushiwaka-chan." Oikawa pulls a face, sticking his tongue out. He goes back to doing his hair, though he's been beaten and he knows it. "Fine fine, I'll do it for free. Just drop the key there, my hands are a little sticky—"

"Tooru."

He stiffens. Just one second, but he knows it happens and Ushijima does too. He doesn't meet Ushijima's eyes in the mirror anymore, because he's worried about what he'll see. He's not sure what might be worse: Ushijima's expression, or his own. But the way Ushijima says his first name is scarily similar to the way Ushijima in Oikawa's dreams says his first name and for a second Oikawa gets the two confused.

The hand on his hair has stopped moving and he rubs his fingertips together awkwardly, feeling the gel.

There is a clatter as the keys are dropped, but that's followed by a thud of a bag and Oikawa's finally compelled to look. One hand is still fixed to his hair, fixing a few strands into place. Over and over and over again. Too much, really. He's not even aware of it himself, not until he sees Ushijima watching him and his arms kind of fall to his sides like they've forgotten how to work.

"Wakatoshi," he returns the other's first name defensively, and for a second he's proud of himself, but then Ushijima's eyes narrow and something akin to a smile tugs at the corner of those perfect lips and Oikawa thinks to himself, _I'm screwed_.

Ushijima takes a step closer but they're still a few arm's lengths apart and Oikawa doesn't see reason to worry—not just yet. When Ushijima speaks his voice is so low Oikawa can almost feel it, "You played poorly today."

"So you've made it clear. Did I not apologize yet? Then I'm sorry. Goodness, Ushiwaka-chan, not everyone can be as perfect as you." He rolls his eyes, but it's only at himself. He sounded petulant even to his own ears.

"Why?"

"You tell me. Life would be great if everyone was a prodigious genius."

"Not that. You can't play because you're distracted by something?" His serious face is back. Oikawa's weak against that expression too.

He sighs, running his fingers through his hair and undoing much of his work. "Didn't I say? There's a cute girl—"

Ushijima is just an arm's length away now and Oikawa's puzzled by that for a moment. When did that happen? And it's while he's confused that Ushijima closes the distance in one step, trapping Oikawa between the wall of lockers and a pair of strong arms. This time Oikawa is the vulnerable girl and he feels his face heat. "How long are you going to lie to me?"

"Wha—?" Perhaps it's the sudden pressure, but Oikawa collects himself. "No one said I'm lying about anything."

"I am."

"And you would know?"

"When it comes to you, I know."

Something about the way he says that makes Oikawa stumble for a second. Just one second though, before he's carrying on challengingly, "What do you know?"

"I know you've been watching me. I know you've been distracted by me. I know you think of me when you touch yourself."

There's something about the indecency of those words when they're coupled with Ushijima's candidness that makes heat pool in his stomach. A long second passes and Oikawa's still not sure what to say. Ushijima's eyes are so close, those lips Oikawa's been dreaming of for weeks are so close, it proves to be a little too much. He licks his own lips. "Three for three. So what are you asking?"

The reply comes so swiftly. "I'm waiting for you to jump me."

Against logic, that's when Oikawa regains control of himself. He starts to laugh, slumping back against the lockers and making the locks rattle in their hooks. He can't speak, his shoulders shaking with silent mirth. It's another moment before he collects himself enough to speak. "You know what you're asking, then, Ushiwaka-chan?"

The other boy rolls his eyes, not answering.

"Alright, alright, I'm just making sure." Oikawa gives in, letting one hand come up to touch the one of the arms trapping him in place. Anticipation coils in his gut. "Don't let it be said I'm not careful. This is just a fling, right?" There's no response and he continues on after a pause. "You want to know something else about me?" The fingers he's tracing up Ushijima's arms are starting to leave more goose bumps in their wake.

"You like to take control."

Oikawa whistles. "Ohh, four for four." He places a hand against Ushijima's chest and gives him a push, enough to make the taller man take a step back, arms falling to his side. He sees something in Ushijima's eyes and the coil in his stomach grows warmer. "Come on, sit." He flicks his eyes towards the bench in the middle of the room and Ushijima is obedient if nothing else. When he sits, the erection is his pants is somehow more noticeable, his loose basketball shorts not doing anything to hide the length or thickness.

Oikawa licks his lips, his concerns vanishing completely. He slides onto Ushijima's lap, sighing in pleasure. Arms immediately wrap around his waist, warm hands sliding up his shirt, along his spine. Ushijima's lips are hungry and Oikawa is all too happy to let him feed. Ushijima's tongue bumps against his teeth and that's when Oikawa pulls back, his tone admonishing. "Not so fast, Ushiwaka-chan," he scolds lightly, though even he's already missing the taste of Ushijima against his lips and he thinks again how deeply screwed he is. This is a whole barrel of regret he's doing to have to swallow later, because Oikawa is a creature of habit and once he forms an addiction it's so impossible to stop.

But right now, _who cares?_ His fingers are deft as he undoes the buttons he had so neatly finished just minutes before. He shrugs out of the shirt, leaving it on the bench beside him. The locker room is not cold, but Oikawa's skin still prickles and shivers run down his spine when Ushijima's bare skin slides against his arms and up his back. He hums appreciatively, relishing the feeling before he bends forward to suck on Ushijima's neck. The sound of Ushijima's breath catching in his throat sends another spark down to Oikawa's groin.

"Tooru."

He stops momentarily, admiring the reddening spot on Ushijima's neck. "Hmm?"

"You don't mind being taken control of either, do you?"

Oikawa just stares, wondering what that means, but then Ushijima is slipping a hand between their bodies and palming Oikawa's hard cock and he hisses. Ah, so that's what he meant. He nearly comes right then and there and he's glad for Ushijima's strong arm around his back—not that he'd ever say so. What he does say though, licking his lips, is , "Five for five."

Ushijima is either more skilled than Oikawa would have ever given him credit for, or he was just especially weak to the dark-haired man's touch. He wanted to believe it was the former. The callused hand quickly slips into his pants and Oikawa grinds himself against the touch, gasping with each pleasurable thrust. He isn't the only one. Ushijima's breathing grows hoarse and short with Oikawa's touch, catching every time Oikawa runs his thumb over Ushijima's slit and before long they've settled into a rhythm that fills the locker room with breathy moans and grunts.

They kiss like they're both starving, stopping only when they need to breathe. When he comes, he shudders in Ushijima's hand, gasping an almost unintelligible name against the other man's lips. Ushijima is just a few seconds behind, spilling himself on Oikawa's fingers.

The kisses then are more languid, just weary licks and nibbles to make the pleasurable feeling last a little longer. But then it begins to err on the side of intimate and eventually, Oikawa slides off. They clean themselves off in silence.

Ushijima sits back down as Oikawa buttons his shirt for the second time. He can feel the taller man's eyes on him, but he pretends not to notice. He looks in the mirror with a disgruntled face. Ushijima's hands are roamers—the back of his head is sticking up strangely. He smooths it out with one hand, before giving up and letting the locker door close.

"Still here, Ushiwaka-chan?" He shoulders his bag, leading the way out of the room.

Nonetheless, he waits as Ushijima locks the door behind them and they fall into step beside each other on the way to the train station. Oikawa talks of pointless things, things even he has no interest in. But Ushijima listens, commenting occasionally and so he carries on, filling up the walk with drivel.

Until they reach the platform and Ushijima turns to him. "Tooru."

The sound of his name conjures up hot kisses and the ghost of a touch on his cock. He glances at the boy, daydreaming about what would happen if he were to jump him like requested. "Mhmm?"

"I think I know something else."

"What else do you know?"

"I know you're in love."

Oikawa clucks his tongue in regret. He can taste Ushijima when he does that. "Aww, so close to a perfect game. Try again next time."

But he doesn't complain when Ushijima grabs his hand as they walk, and is even somewhat satisfied when Ushijima gives him a kiss on the corner of his lips when they part. "Next time then," Ushijima says and he turns to go.

He watches the taller man until he's lost to the crowd, then clicks his tongue again. Sometimes Ushiwaka-chan could be so scary.

_Six for six._


End file.
